


After

by amuk



Category: Darker Than Black
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Missing Scene, Multi, One-Sided Relationship, Romance, Slice of Life, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with endings is that there are loose ends left to tie. The dead still have to buried, the living need to dream, and those left behind must look for a path on their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after season one, with no knowledge of season two or the gaiden arc.

_January_

 

Every morning, Yin practices making expressions. In front of a silver mirror, the bucket of cold water that Hei would fill the night before, she first lightly skims the water with her fingers.

 

It is her element for like calls like and the calm water mirrors her calm movements.

 

(Or is it the other way around—is she the one who mirrors the water?)

 

Her hands dowse themselves in the liquid, sinking into its cool depths, and she is no longer Yin but an extension of the water. They are one, still and life-giving and she feels a familiar tug pulling her to dive in deeper, to push herself through the water and connect with it everywhere.

 

It’s hard to pull out of that.

 

The droplets slide down her chin as she moves parts of her face about with her wet fingers. A half-lifted lip, the steep slope of an eyebrow, she experiments and changes parts minutely. A happy face is the upturned curve of her lips, a sad one is the droop of her cheeks.

 

Hei knows what she is attempting to do. He doesn’t say anything about it, instead quietly telling her when her eyes don’t match her mouth or when her cheeks puff out a little too much. Occasionally, he congratulates her for making a more realistic expression.

 

Yin doesn’t know what to do when he does that. She supposes there is some comment, some sign that should be made but she just doesn’t know what. Instead she nods slowly, pushing her fingers up to make a smile.

 

(People smile when they are complemented, right?)

 

It takes her months to move her face around without her fingers, longer still to make the expressions realistic enough to pass for a human’s.

 

It isn’t enough, though. It just isn’t. She never completes the motion. The feeling behind them, the joy or sorrow or anger, those cannot be mimicked, drawn onto her soul with tracing paper.

 

She can’t understand them and so she can’t have them.

 

_February_

 

She visits his grave every now and then. Not very often—she sometimes stares at the clock and wonders where all that time went, where the minutes and hours that pass disappear to during a prolonged hunt.

 

Still, Misaki always makes time to see him when the day is too long or the path is hidden by barbs and tantalizing distractions.

 

Staring at the white marker, a monochrome memorial of a person, she almost chuckles.

 

“November 11,” she muses, setting down the flowers. Who would have guessed she missed him? Along the way of death and living, a cold wind snuck up her spine and a tarnished princess stole her thoughts. “I could have used your help for the last case.”

 

She stares at the engraved names, the fragility of humans written in stone. All that’s left, after all the tears and laughter is gone is a small note trying to verify an existence. A sign that someone lived and didn’t want to be forgotten.

 

Closing her eyes, she relaxes for a moment, stretching her tense muscles. Then the tired prince turns around and leaves, blending in with the thousands of bodies flooding the streets.

 

_March_

 

 A harsh sweeping noise wakes the complex, a soft grumble when the broom hits the litter left behind by her tenants. Misuzu leans against the broom, pausing to catch her breath.

 

Something is to be said about growing old, when age catches up with bones and muscles and the slight cracking of bending is heard at every movement. She’s getting too old to clean after these grown-up kids, these lost children who grew up too fast and are trying to regain their youth.

 

Something is to be said but she will never say it. Instead she curses loudly and angrily, shaking out those still in bed.

           

“Lousy kids,” she complains, pushing the empty cans to a corner, signs of merrymaking the night before. They cloud the ground, a garden of garbage taking over her yard every night. It creeps and crawls over everything until she pushes them away. The next day she will be fighting this war once again,

 

“I’m trying to sleep here!” a girl yells, her voice muffled by the sliding doors and worn-out pillows.

 

“That’s what the night is for!” An exchange of attacks and there’s momentarily peace in the building.

 

Glancing up, she sees _his_ old room. She frowns at the sight of it, softly shaking her head.

 

“It’s a pity,” she mutters to herself. “He was such a good boy.” One that could have kept the other ones in line. The sea of filth would have been reduced to a puddle. “And my TV is acting up again.”

 

Misuzu sweeps the floor, lamenting on what was and what is.

 

_April_

 

“Really? A reward you say?” Gai leans forward, eagerly awaiting the rest of the information. Either that or he’s trying to see down the lady’s shirt again.

 

Kiko contemplates hitting him again but at least he’s accepting the work this time. It’s nothing too big, some missing notebooks, but at least it is business.

 

Business means money means Gai can finally pay her and she can buy some material for her latest outfit. There are only two months until she needs it and at this rate she’s never going to be finished.

 

“Let’s go,” Gai proclaims after donning his coat and hat. The customer is already gone, a ghost passing through their dinky office. A paper with a description is all that is left of this illusion and she eagerly jumps up.

 

The sooner the job is done, the sooner Gai gets the money.

 

“Where are we going?” she asks as he leads her down the street. Turning left, he heads straight to the train station.

 

“The next stop,” he answers. “That’s where Ayu-chan lives.”

 

“That close already?” Kiko comments wryly. “Why couldn’t she give us a ride?”

 

“Ayu-chan has a few errands to run. We’ll wait for her instead her house. I have her key.” With a flourish, he showcases the silver key and hides it in his pocket.

 

A train roars by and Kiko pauses, watches the white monster slid to a smooth stop, the slightest sigh of air displaced. Last time she was on one, Kirsi was there, along with her friend.

 

(Black strands, calm eyes, a sedative drug that she dreams about occasionally and breathes out even less.

 

Time erases all footprints eventually but at this point she still blushes at the thought of him.)

 

Too bad Kirsi disappeared. She would have looked perfect with her latest fandom, with drooping white ears and a silver, puffy dress. Adorable.

 

“We’ll take this one.” Gai steps through the doors and Kiko hastens to follow.

 

Only the night is for dreaming.

 

She exhales, releasing a stream of half-thoughts, and pushes the wish to the back of her mind.

 

_June_

 

Hei watches Yin, the quiet movements punctuated by softer eyes, downcast and never-seeing. She sits at the edge of the bed; always the edge, a tightrope walker dangling between lucidity and dreams and he can never be sure of where she falls each time. At night, there are shallow breaths and waiting fingers—he doesn’t know quite what she’s waiting for, of whom she’s waiting for. She never sleeps, never dreams, and she is more of a contractor than he will ever be.

 

When he’s around during the day, he watches her tentative steps toward living. She mimics humanity far better than most people show it.

 

“I have a job today,” he tells her as he gets ready in the morning. Her slow steps falter, pausing for a heartbeat, before the _tat-tat-tat_ continues. Even without brushing, her hair looks the same as it did months ago and it sways with each smooth glide.

 

Sitting down, water slipping in a cup, she starts to practice her facial expressions, trying on feelings like clothes. Perhaps it will help her gain the actual emotion.

 

(And, when she grabs his shirt as he leaves, her fingers imprinting on his skin deeper than any scar, he almost thinks she has it. Almost but not quite—he can not be like that boy, believing in something that is not certain.)

 

_July_

 

“You still haven’t told her?” Yutaka laughs, clutching his stomach as he doubles over. “She still hasn’t figured it out? Some officer she is.”

 

“…” Saito frowns, almost arguing before stopping himself. It’s true, he should have admitted it sooner but there hasn’t been any time. Or rather, there has but every time he tries something comes up.

 

Sitting, Yutaka starts to count his attempts. “Let’s see, you gave her flowers for her birthday, follow her everywhere—” Saito makes a noise of protest at that “— you practically ask her out, and she still doesn’t notice.” He laughs again. “Why don’t you just tell her already?”

 

“I think I did….” Or did he? There is that feeling of relief, the release of that secret, but it’s hidden under layers of dust and cobwebs, so many he can’t be certain it was just a dream. “I’ll do it when she comes in.”

 

“Good luck with that.” Chortling, there is a slap of folders on his desk and Yutaka groans as he turns around.

 

“If you have time to laugh, you can work on these.” Kunio drops another stack on Saito’s desk and an identical one on his. “Witness reports for our latest case.”

 

Misaki comes in, confidence and intelligence in each stride. His heart beats slower, watching as her typical frown forms and she starts to command.

 

An elbow in his stomach and time resumes at its steady pace. Right. Today he will do it. “Mi—”

 

“I’m going to check the crime scene,” she barks out. “Kunio, Yutaka, look through those files once more. Saito, follow me.”

 

“Yes!” Saito ignores the chuckles Yutaka gives when another opportunity is lost. No matter—it takes years of friendship and understanding for something to form when there is no base to start with. Years of waiting and watching and patience and he supposes that another day won’t make a difference.

 

“Quickly!” Misaki snaps, and he chases after her footsteps.

 

Where she goes, he will always follow and nothing will change that.

 

_(August_

 

“So that was your choice.” Amber sits beside him, so close that they are touching yet so far that he can just make the sharp profile of her face, the gentle look in her eyes.

 

“It was once your choice too.” He isn’t sure if that is true—if her giving him that chance was just out of love or out of her own desire as well. Isn’t sure but says it anyways, some thoughts cannot be contained.

 

Pai is next to him as well, actually touching this time. Her fingers overlap his, melding into one, and he wonders what this says about him.

 

“Perhaps.” Half-answers, riddles without clues as usual. “Are you happy?”

 

“…” She hasn’t changed much, he thinks. Her face is younger, her voice teetering on the brink of puberty, and there is something harder about her words. All that but she still has that soft tone when she talks to him, that kindness that won’t die even though it killed her.

 

Suddenly, green hair blends with his black and all he can see are her bright eyes. “Are you?”

 

There are no real answers to that question, only temporarily ones that wear out by the time the question is asked.

 

A flash of purple and grey and he responds. “Yes.”

 

It’s as close to the truth as he can get.

 

_September_

 

“What happened to your boyfriend again?” Kanami pulls out another shirt, glancing at the frilly border before returning it to the pile.

 

“What?” Misaki frown turns deeper, if that’s even possible. “He was not my boyfriend!”

 

“Sure, sure…”  Another shirt is pulled out, a lilac blouse, and she contemplates it for a moment before draping it over her arms. “He did disappear.”

 

“He did, didn’t he?” There are so many connections between that boy and BK-201, threads and ribbons that crossed and tied together at nearly every point. She should have noticed it earlier, should have acted upon it earlier.

 

Yet, she can’t imagine a life without contractors, the patterns of stars and lives that performed a synchronized dance. And if it weren’t for him, that would have happened.

 

“…” Kanami watches her friend chew her lip, irritation forming cuts and bruises over time. It is one thing to tease her and yet another to have her take it seriously. Grabbing a dress impulsively, she pushes it into her arms. “Try this on.”

 

Picking it up, Misaki’s eyes widens in shock. “It’s…It’s…What are you trying to do to me?”

 

It reveals too much skin, Kanami admits to herself, but even something that exposed a flash of skin would be too much for her friend. “Come on, try it on at least. You might like it.”

 

“Never!”

 

Kanami chuckles at her vehemence and Misaki shakes her head. The tune from a cell phone rings from Kanami’s pockets and she sighs. “A star moved again.”

 

“Again?”

 

“Yeah, nothing too serious but I need to check it up.”

 

“…”

 

Kanami grins mischievously. “But only after you try it on.”

 

_October_

 

She is usually the only one in their apartment. Hei has jobs that last the day and night, filling up spaces and gaps of time that do not exist. Sometimes he can’t tell if he’s avoiding her or not.

 

When he is home, Yin doesn’t give more than a nod and a solemn greeting. Something she picks up from listening to a radio and watching dramas on TV, where emotions are strung all over the place. She can sense him moving around the room. Without watching, she can tell that he’s tired, sleep claiming a hold over him. He collapses, tired on the broken mattress, and she perches next to it, a hovering bird.

 

He isn’t always tired, she knows that much. Sometimes he stays home and cleans the rooms, corrects her motions and words. There is a contemplative silence between them, one built of time and missions and she finds herself working on expressions less and watching him more.

 

When he wakes up in the morning, he finds her sitting on the chair next to him.

 

 

 

_November_

 

“Busy again—a lot of murders and the contractors are hard to find.” Misaki crouches, placing the bouquet of flowers on the ground, a stark contrast of light and dark. The bags under her eyes are more pronounced now, her sleep interrupted by calls of blood and flesh. Death is her lullaby and she doesn’t know how she went on before. 

 

“No help, as usual. Everyone is becoming increasingly unhelpful, sometimes stopping our investigations mid-way.” She doesn’t know why she’s saying this; words mean nothing to the dead and everything to the living.

 

“It’s November.” A fitting time to end this. “I can’t keep talking to ghosts and memories.”

 

She steps back, sees the street light for what it is—a tie to a future that doesn’t exist. A pipe of loss and regret that she has no time to visit, no time to reminisce over. Her subordinates are waiting around the corner, another case about to start, and she needs to keep her attention focused on the job.

 

“The prince has to leave eventually,” she murmurs and leaves him for the last time.

 

(A flower floats to the ground slowly, bursting into petals that drift with the breeze.)  

 

_December_

 

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

 

“…” Silence, puffs of air against the cool wind. The breaths linger there before dissipating and he doesn’t know if she can see his face and read his expression like she reads the water. “Yes.”

 

It almost startles him, this answer. It was only ‘No’ before.

 

“Where to?”

 

“…” Her eyes are trained to the ground, her steps careful and calculated. “The lake.”

 

It’s dark out, fireflies lighting a path around the water when they arrive. One flies into her hand, illuminating her pale skin and red fingertips. No shivering comes from her but he realizes, too late, that she’s cold.

 

“Do you want to go back?”

 

She gives a slow shake of her head, appearing content.

 

Amber’s question replays in his head and as Yin’s fingers curl around his, waiting for him to lead her to the water, the answer still rings true.


End file.
